


Mirrors

by soulcomposer



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulcomposer/pseuds/soulcomposer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta vents.</p><p>Title comes from the song Mirrors by Ellie Goulding featured in the Catching Fire soundtrack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirrors

This sucks. I suck. And telling this to myself instead of studying for my final really isn’t getting me anywhere. I keep on having these flashback montages in my head of everything in this past semester that I’ve failed at. My art project just barely got a passing grade, something that I thought for the longest time would be the one thing I could always rely in attaining success but no, I don’t even have that going for me. Math was a pain but I think I held out well and should get a decent A. That’s the only A I’m counting on getting. As for History, so far my worst subject to date, I’m stuck. I’m so stuck and overwhelmed by information and I still haven’t formulated more or less what I’m going to include in my one page of notes for the final. 

Why am I here? Why do I keep on trying? The existential questions come back to me for about the thirtieth time this past week. But its true, I have no guarantee about staying in the major that I’m in and how the so called “real life applications” will land me a job. What am I going to do? Complain for the rest of my life ‘cause that’s all I’m ever good for. I run my hands through my hair as I trudge through my wooden floors once more to the bathroom. I let the water from the sink flow freely through the webbing of my fingers and dig my fingers into my sides, dampening my thin shirt. I close my eyes tightly and try to get ahold of my breathing that has started to quicken, anxiety welling up inside me. I can feel it wanting to take over again like it did yesterday, mind stretching, cold sweat dripping down my back, sticking to my gross form. I hate this so much. 

Can’t I just end it all? Right here? No one would care right? I mean everyone’s already got who they need. Katniss has Gale, I’m pretty sure my family has set sail from me since I left for high school. Can’t I just relieve myself of pain for just a little while? Like I did this past week, where for each passing day after, I kept on passing the skin over with my thumbs, reminding myself of how I deserved these scars and that I should have kept going. 

I look at myself in the mirror again. I try to see the person that everyone else sees: kind, smart, funny, caring, intelligent. The only apparent positive quality I can associate with myself is hardworking. I worked for over 3 months on this art collage for my dream college, whereas the people that did make it didn’t start until 2 weeks prior to the portfolio deadline. You can imagine the devastated that I was after I didn’t get in but that was manageable. But not only did I have to go back to the person who judged my work for it but they picked me apart for everything that I did, everything was wrong, and the parts I thought I did well were deemed not good enough. I never want to endure something like that again. Why would someone work themselves up for so long only to be let down, feeling as if they’ve been thrown against a wall? What’s the point in being hardworking and breaking yourself over what you do if doesn’t provide anything in the long run except for immense failure? 

Emotional. That’s what I see in my eyes as they start to water. Pathetic, as I start to run my hands across the scars on my hips. Lost, as I see my lip tremble and weak as I let the tears roll down my face, wishing that I could suppress everything, that I couldn’t feel anymore. It’s not worth feeling anything if the negatives always trump the positives. I shut the bathroom door behind me a little louder than I had intended and throw myself on my bed. I sneak under the three layers of covers and attempt to burrow into nothingness. No one should see me. 

These mirrors in my head are going to shatter.


End file.
